Beyond Your Wildest Dreams
by secondstar18
Summary: LWW through a slightly different point of view...but don't worry, it's not a simple retelling. Chapter 2 finally up, sorry for the wait! Read & Review
1. The Blitz

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. DUH!**

**A/N: Ok, just want ya'll to know that the Professor's thoughts on the Germans aren't my own beliefs. Living in that time, I think he would have a prejudice against them naturally, but I, personally, have no prejudice whatsoever against the German people. His thoughts on the Germans do not reflect my own. Also, I apologize if I messed up the tea and language. I am not British; I'm actually going to England for the first time during the summer. I don't pretend to know everything about the country and the people. **

**Chapter 1: The Blitz**

"And now, live from London with the latest report on the German attacks, American reporter Ernie Pyle!"

Digory Kirke leaned over the wooden table in his study and switched off the radio, allowing the echoing voices to die out. He leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh, tugging slightly on his beard, a habit that he had recently developed when he was thinking.

Those blasted Germans. They had been bombing London and Coventry continuously for weeks now, flying in at night as omens of destruction. The radio could speak of nothing else, only how many people were killed, injured, and orphaned that night. It was always the same.

His little mansion was burrowed deep into the country hills, but that did not stop Professor Kirke from know exactly what was happening to his fellow compatriots. He knew that the air sirens did not always go off to warn them of an attack; he knew that there were the underground bomb shelters where children huddled in fear; he knew that every time the Germans came, there was pain. Winston Churchill was doing his best, but London was being shattered nightly.

He stopped tugging on his beard and rubbed his forehead with one hand, exhausted. He was getting old, now, he realized. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have joined the brave young men who were battling those Germans. During most of the year, he did not mind so much, for he was teaching in London. Nevertheless, during the summer, as it was now, there was a terrible feeling of uselessness that plagued the professor from dawn until dusk.

What could an old man do to help save his ailing homeland?

Groaning softly, he stood, shoving the papers he had been working on into a cubbyhole nearby. He was tired of messing with such things. There was tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next. It was not as if there was anything else for him to do. Oh, if only it was not the summer…

A sharp rap at the door startled Digory from his thoughts. "Professor? I've brought you some tea." His housemaid's voice echoed down the empty hall outside the door. The professor smiled and made a waving motion with his hand, despite the fact that she was outside the room and could not see him.

"Come in, come in."

Mrs. Macready pushed the door open with her foot and hurried into the room, her hands full with the tea tray. "And there's been a letter for you, sir," she continued, setting the tray down on Digory's desk.

"Ah, probably Jones down at the university. I asked him to write and send me next year's curriculum guidelines." Professor Kirke nodded to himself as sniffed the tea appreciatively. "Good man, Jones. Mrs. Macready, the tea smells superb!"

Mrs. Macready poured the tea into a cup and handed it to the professor, shaking her head. "Actually, sir, I don't think it's from the university a' tall. There's a French postmark on it and it's been previously opened. I think it's from the battle lines." She took the cream and sugar off the tray and placed them on the desk before rummaging around in her apron pockets.

Digory raised his eyebrows. "From the war? Indeed. How peculiar." He placed a pinch of sugar in the tea and stirred it carefully as Mrs. Macready produced the envelope. "Here it is, sir."

Digory took the envelope from Mrs. Macready carefully, setting his tea down as he did so. "Hmm," he muttered, flipping the letter over in his hands several times. It was plain, extremely plain, actually. There were no markings on the envelope except his address and the postmark. And as Mrs. Macready had said, the flap had very obviously been torn open and glued back down. "Censored, no doubt," the professor muttered to himself.

He reached for the letter opener in its slot and glanced at the housekeeper. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Macready." She nodded her head at him and left through the door, allowing it to fall shut behind her with a firm thump.

The letter opener sliced the paper open with little difficulty, and Professor Kirke produced a single sheet of plain white paper from the envelope. He leaned back in his chair again, the edges of his mouth twitched up in the beginnings of a smile. This was very interesting, indeed.

_My dear Professor Kirke_, the letter ran, _I don't presume for you to remember me as I do you, for I know that you have a great many students that have attended your classes at the university in London. I was one of them, quite some time ago, when you were beginning to teach there. As I said, I truly don't expect you to remember me all too well. Despite that, I am writing you to ask you a most magnificent favor, one that I feel I can ask of only you. There are few others that I can trust so thoroughly in these days. I am fighting for England, as you can probably tell by the letter, but I am afraid that I cannot tell you precisely where. Censorship, you know. _

Digory chuckled. Yes, he knew.

_I am no longer the young boy that you once taught, Professor. I am married and have four children, who are currently standing directly in harm's way. They are living in the heart of London, where the Germans are bombing the hardest. I cannot protect them as I should, for I am far away from them. I remember you telling me on graduation day that if I ever needed help, you would be there. I do not need any help, sir, but my family may one day need it. If my family ever needs assistance, I am asking if you would be ready to help them. _

_My wife, Helen, has your address tucked away in a drawer and I have told her to contact you if the need ever arises. Professor, I do not know if I will make it home. I know that this is a huge favor I am asking, and I promise you, I will do my best to make it up to you one day._

_Your faithful student, Robert Pevensie_

Professor Kirke dropped the letter onto his desk next to the cooling teacup and sighed thoughtfully. _Robert Pevensie_. He had been one of his first students, and, despite Robert's belief that he would be forgotten, there was no way that Digory could forget _any_ of his students, much less Robert, who had been part of his first class so many years ago.

He had a family now, and they might need him.

Digory's eyes drifted to the silent radio and his mind was made up. He would be ready, should they ever need him. If all he could do to help in the war was watch out for a friend's wife and his four children, then he would do it, even if it was from afar.

He reached over and turned the radio back on, no longer disturbed over his lack of aid in the war effort.

"And now, back to your classical music…"

**A/N: Ok, just so ya'll know, this replaced a really short oneshot by the same name. I'm working on Chapter 2, just R&R! I love feedback...**


	2. No Longer Safe

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait for an update; I've been working on getting a balance between school, writing, and piano, and unfortunately for my writing, school exams and piano competitions are coming up soon. So you're lucky I got this out, sometimes it's good to get sick for a week or so. Anyway, enjoy and stay tuned for the note at the end!

**Chapter 2: No Longer Safe **

Whenever she had a nightmare, Lucy liked to open her eyes very slowly after making sure she was not still in that nightmare. She would make sure she knew where she was and who she was with so that she would not have to worry about awakening to the same nightmare she had just left. But as she awoke the morning after a particularly harsh bombing run, she realized that what she had thought as a nightmare was reality.

Susan's skirt was pressed into her cheek, leaving raised patterns across her face from the wool that constituted it. A blanket had been pulled over her carefully, and the room that she was in was very, very dark.

Lucy sat up slowly and reached out her hand to find where the rest of Susan was. "Susan?" she whispered quietly, her arm flailing around in the darkness. "Susan, where are you?" She gulped once. The room was _so_ dark.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Lucy very nearly screamed at the voice that suddenly whispered in her ear. "Edmund!" she gasped. "Don't frighten me so!" She whirled around to see her brother, but ended up banging her head on something instead. "Ouch!" she cried, pressing one hand and doubling over onto Susan's lap heavily, awakening her sister with a start.

"Lucy!" Susan gasped. "Oh, goodness Lucy, you startled me. Are you alright?"

Lucy sniffed a few times and sent a glare in the direction in which she assumed Edmund to be. "I think I banged my head on the ceiling, thanks to Edmund."

"It wasn't my fault! She turned around too fast! Might look where she's going, next time," Edmund protested hotly from beside Susan. "It wasn't my fault either!" Lucy cried, while Susan sighed heavily in the darkness. "Oh, grow up, you two," she muttered, fumbling around in the blankets for a light. "Now where did I put that torch?"

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Lucy, who in turn stuck her tongue out at him, even though neither could really distinguish the other through the dark, until Susan found the torch at last and snapped on the light, accidentally shining it in both of their faces and blinding everyone in the shelter.

"Susan!" Peter flipped over onto his stomach and buried his face in the nearest blanket. "You could at least give some warning when you're going to do a thing like that!"

The light went out, accompanied by a soft apology. Then it came back on as Susan remembered something.

"Peter, where's mum?"

Shielding his eyes from the light, Peter attempted to look at Susan. "She went inside earlier to see how bad the damage was," he explained, waving his hand around in front of his face to see how much light he could block. "She told me to let you all sleep, not that it's doing me much good _now_."

The light went back off.

Then Lucy screamed as Edmund tickled her neck, the light went back on, and Peter ordered everyone into the house before he lost his mind.

The Pevensie house was silent, save for the clatter of silverware on plates as the four children devoured their breakfasts with a passion. Sitting at her spot at the end of the table, Helen Pevensie watched them with teary eyes.

"Thanks for breakfast, mum," Peter declared, swallowing the last few bits of his porridge.

Helen smiled as the other three echoed her eldest's sentiments, but quickly turned away so the younger ones would not see her tears. As she turned her head, however, she immediately caught sight of the terrible damage done to the house during the German attacks the night before, and fresh tears rose up in her eyes.

Glass from almost all of the windows was scattered everywhere. The curtains had been ripped to shreds; they would need replacing, for there was no way to mend them. The walls were scarred with markings from the various flying debris that had hit them during the night, and deep scratches and gorges ran across the surface of the wooden floor. The fabric of the sofas in the adjacent living room were punctured in many places, and the lamps were lying, in pieces, on the floor.

As Helen watched, Lucy finished off her breakfast and headed for the sink, sidestepping pieces of wood and metal that were strewn about. Her slipper caught on the edge on one particularly large piece, and she tumbled to the floor with a painful-sounding thump.

"Lucy!" Peter leapt to his feet and hurried to his younger sister, accidentally knocking Edmund in the arm as he went. "Ow!" Edmund protested, rubbing his arm. "That hurt!" Susan shot him a frustrated glance as she stood and followed Peter, carrying their dirty dishes.

"Mum, I tore my slipper," Lucy said sadly, fighting back tears as she gazed at her ripped shoe and the blood welling from a smarting cut on her foot. Helen dropped to her knees on the ground by her daughter and rubbed Lucy's head soothingly. "It's alright, darling. I can mend it. Susan, dear, get the bandages from the top cupboard. Lucy has a bit of a scratch on her foot."

Susan fumbled in the cupboard for a moment before producing the bandages, then handed them to her mum before dumping the dishes in the sink and turning the water tap, only to find that there was no water coming from it.

"Mum, the pipeline must have been hit," she remarked with disgust as she jerked on the tap handle in vain. "There's no water."

Peter patted Lucy's hand as Helen finished wrapping the cut on her foot and looked up at Susan. "They'll probably be fixed soon," he remarked, getting to his feet carefully, avoiding bits of debris. "Besides, we have some bottled water out in the shelter."

"I hate bottled water," Edmund muttered from his place at the table, pushing his porridge around his bowl aimlessly. "And I hate the Germans. Stupid war. Stupid Germans."

Susan huffed and turned from the sink to glare at Edmund. "You don't hate bottled water, and you shouldn't hate the Germans. They're not _all_ bad. And don't say 'stupid', it's a bad word."

"Who died and made you queen?" Edmund snapped, throwing his spoon into his bowl with a loud clatter. "I don't have to obey _you_."

"Edmund," Helen's tone of voice carried a warning. "That's enough." Lucy sniffled and rested her head on her mother's shoulder sadly. "It _is_ a stupid war," she whispered. "Look what it did to the house again."

Peter knelt back down and gently wrapped his fingers around Lucy's small hand. "It's going to be fine, Lu," he declared optimistically, smiling down at her. "We'll help Mum fix the house…"

"And the Germans will come back," Edmund muttered, finally getting out of his chair with his bowl in hand. "They always come back. They always bomb us. It doesn't matter if we fix the house, they'll just bust it apart again."

Tears filled Lucy's eyes and she looked up at Peter, frightened. "Is it true, Peter?" she whispered, clutching his hand desperately. "Will they always come back? I thought they would go away after this time."

Susan snatched Edmund's bowl from his hand and dumped it in the sink, scowling at him. "No, Lucy, they'll go away eventually. They can't stay forever." She sent a sharp look at Edmund, who stuck out his tongue at her.

Helen leaned back on her heels and gazed around the house, heartbroken tears filling her eyes. Her glance floated about the room, noting the wreckage and destruction enacted upon the house, and finally came to rest on her four children, all fighting for some semblance of normality in this wreak the world called a war. Pain flooded her chest as she suddenly realized something terrible; she could not keep them safe here.

Helen pressed one hand to her mouth in heart-wrenching sorrow and let out a soft moan, closing her eyes in the sheer agony of the moment. She was not the invincible mother, the perfect protector of her young ones. She could no longer keep them safe here.

"Mum?" Susan asked; her brow furrowed in concern as she turned away from her dark-haired younger brother. "Mum, are you alright?"

A single tear slid down Helen's cheek as the four children glanced, worried, at their mother, then each other. Lucy let go of Peter's hand and wrapped her arms around Helen's neck lovingly, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. Helen held her daughter fiercely and kissed the back of her head.

"Oh, my darlings," she whispered, sending a silent prayer to whomever was listening. "I can't keep you here."

Lucy sat straight up and stared at her mother in fright. "Mum?" she whispered, her small eyes open wide. "What…what do you mean?"

Helen rubbed Lucy's back soothingly and met Peter's confused gaze with a firmness she did not feel. "It's not safe here anymore. You have to leave."

There was a tense, unbroken silence, then Edmund threw his spoon on the ground and took off out the door.

**A/N:** Well, you like? Review to tell me what I could fix, I need constructive criticism! Although please keep in mind that I am not British and have never even been to Britain, so there may be some "Americanisms" present. If you are British, please don't take offense to this, just tell me what I got wrong so I can go back and fix it properly. Also, I made the dynamics between the children a bit strained, as I find it hard to believe that Edmund was ready to turn on his siblings after such a short time. As you can probably guess, I've alternated the viewpoint for some dramatic influence, but don't worry, there'll be much more of the professor in upcoming chapters!


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